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2014-03-06 - First Impressions
Clint hadn't seen Nat since the Avengers meeting. He'd heard that she was shacking up with Stark, but since he was in the neighbourhood he figured he'd swing by her place and check in. Just in case she wasn't up at the penthouse. He's dressed casually, jeans, a t-shirt with a bullseye in two different shades of purple on the front (that, let me tell you was hard to find) and his leather jacket and knit cap with an H on the front. At the door to Nat's place he pulls out the key and slips it in the lock. He turns it slowly, and pushes the door open. Last time he showed up he got a gun in the face, so, he's cautious this time. "Naaat?" he calls into the apartment from the doorway. Poor Clint. He might never visit the place again. At first, Bucky thinks it's probably Natasha, coming back. But the caution doesn't fit. And the steps sound a bit too heavy, for her. He's had plenty of time to study the apartment, and he's halfway moving between the door as it starts to open and the wall, when he realizes it's probably someone just looking for Natasha. One of her friends. So, the man pauses, and ends up right in Clint's line of sight, eyes narrowed, suspiciously. He states, rather briskly, "She's not here." The last time he saw Bucky, he was pointing a gun in his face. That doesn't do so good for first impressions. To see him here, in Nat's place, doesn't do so good for second ones either. The fact Nat isn't here makes his choice of action easy "Good," he says and then takes a swing a Bucky's jaw. So much for pleasantries. And bad impressions. The man's reactions are impressive, but the fist still glances off his jawline. The presently disguised cybernetic arm moves up to grab the wrist of the offending hand, and pitch it's owner into the wall, face-first. Hard. Clint reaches out his currently un-gripped hand to stop his impact with the wall. Or well at least slow it down. He still comes away with spinning head and surprisingly little damage done to Nat's place. "Huh, right, cyborg, forgot that part," he turns and faces off with Bucky, slipping into a combat stance. "Alright Robocop, let's try this again," he throws a quick right then ducks low to sweep out Bucky's legs. Bucky's arm moves up to deflect the punch and block it, and as the leg-sweep is attempted, he spring-rolls forward, over the sweeping leg, pushing off onto his hand, and swinging his own foot out with pure power to try and slam his boot into the back of Clint's head, before rolling back up into a solid standing position. "The name is James. You're making a mistake," he warns Clint. Clint curses as Bucky jumps the sweep and then does some crazy acrobatic shit to vanish from view Clint turns but not fast enough the drop kick hits him in the side of the head and he goes down in a heap. "Ow, jerk," he mutters as he starts picking himself back up again holding the side of his head. He holds up his free hand. "Fine, fine, I'm done, I'm done. Wasn't anything personal you stuck a gun in my face back in Russia and that sort of thing sort of deserves a punch in the face." Bucky does not relax, but neither does he press his advantage. "Lucky for you, that was all I did." Then, he extends his hand out to offer Clint a help up. "But that wasn't me, who stuck a gun in your face. That was the Winter Soldier." Clint takes the hand. This wasn't so much a fight as man dancing, you didn't have hard feelings after that sort of thing. "Heh, that's funny, anyone ever tell you that you and this Winter Soldier guy sort of look a like?" he says once he's on his feet. He opens the fridge freezer and finds something cold to stick on his head. "I heard about the brainwashing and stuff, but still, dick move, the gun thing." He lets a bag of peas sit against his head for a second before he turns and offers his hand. "Anyhow James, I'm Clint. So Nat letting you shack up here while she's shacking up with Tony or something?" "Hard to keep secrets, around here." The man moves over to the couch, where a bottle, half full, of Magnum Grey Goose vodka sits, the bottle frosty from being in the freezer. He pours two glasses, then flops onto the couch, picking up one of the glasses for himself. "Don't know where she is. She left, after I crashed. Said I could stay here for awhile. She and I - go back. Knew Fury, too, back then. See you and Natalie have your own history together." Clint takes a dish towel and uses it to fix the bag of peas to his head. It looks ridiculous but it makes his head hurt less. So too does the vodka, or it will, eventually, he takes the glass when he sits down and has a grateful sip. "You knew Fury back in the day? Seen him since? Would be kinda fun to see if he's always been such a hard ass. And yeah, Nat and me we've got history. Worked together and did other stuff for awhile," he takes a sip of the vodka. "You?" "I helped to train her," recounts Bucky, mildly, after his own drink of the rather expensive vodka. "Knew her - pretty well, back then, too. As the Winter Soldier." He doesn't offer more than that, though. Still, he admits, "Fury hasn't changed. One bit." There's a grim smile, there. "Though maybe he's a little more mellow than he used to be." Clint snorts into the very good vodka. "Mellow? You're shitting me?" he says as he lowers his cup and looks over at James. "Train her huh? If you had anything to do with putting her in that room you Ruskies had over there, we may need to get back to where we left off." "I'm not Russian," points out James, his eyes narrowing some. "Anymore than you are. You want to hold grudges for something I did after they implanted memories and obedience into me? Fine. That's your perogative. But I didn't give orders. I followed them. And I made damn well sure she survived." "Yeah? Okay, then what are you James?" Clint asks before he takes another sip of his vodka. "'Cause you sound Russian," he says he frowns then considering the rest. "And if you're just following orders, was helping Nat part of that? Cause seems a little double-standardish to be proud of one part of what they told you to do and denying the rest, no?" "Live there for forty or fifty years, and you would too," points out Bucky, who doesn't look even into his thirties, yet. And now, he's starting to sound irritated. Angry. Good job, Clint. "I'm American. And I should've died, in that plane crash when Cap and I were trying to take down Red Skull. But I didn't. My arm got ripped off, instead. Cap tried to save me, but he couldn't. The Russians picked me up, and messed with my head. Gave me this." The skin 'leaves' his cybernetic arm, showing the polished metallic sheen beneath. "Kept me in stasis, until I was needed. And the moment I get my senses together, I see my best friend getting killed. The man I trained with. Fought with. Thought was my brother, my father, my best friend." The agitation is growing, as he leans forward, "So, tell me what the hell you want me to say, and then leave me the hell alone." Clint has to admit, the bit about sounding Russian makes sense, especially if he was around to train Nat. The rest though, the rest just floors him. He makes a T with his hands. "Time out, sport," he says. "Plane crash? Red Skull?" then it really hits him and he almost drops his glass of vodka. "Holy shit, you're Bucky Barnes," he breathes his eyes going wide. "Yeah," says Bucky, still riled up. But at least there is no face-punching going on. He finishes off his vodka, "I am." He reaches for the bottle, to pour himself another glass. "So say what you want to say, and be done with it." Sure, he's been -told- he's a 'hero' of American history, but everyone he's more or less encountered who knew him, already knew him from those past days, except for Stark. And that meeting had a far different tone to it. And he hadn't tried to kill Stark, as the Winter Soldier. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Clint says holding up his hands, one of the still holding his glass. "Forget me being pissed at you, I didn't know who you /were/ I mean holy crap you're Bucky Barnes," he shakes his head and takes a drink. "You were like one of my heroes growing up. You and Cap. I read all the comics, saw the movies, like seriously. Why the heck didn't you tell me who you were? Would have saved us that whole trouble earlier." James squints, but, some of the irritation bleeds out, slowly. "Movies?" He was, of course, aware there were comics. He'd helped push some of them out, to get the youth of America involved in the War in their own way. "There were movies?" He shakes his head, points out, "Told you I was James. Don't know that I'm Bucky, anymore. Not when you're living with nightmares in your head. Besides. You were at the raid. Figured you already knew. Fury and Stark knew." And of course, Natasha. But he doesn't mention her. "Just figured you had an issue with me. Wouldn't blame you if you did." "Yeeeah, nobody told me who you were, which is pretty typical for our team," Clint says with an amused chuckle. "And no problem with you, man you're Bucky. Though if the guys who turned you into Winter Soldier are still alive, I'd be happy to punch them a bit," he smiles then and nods. "And yeah, movies. Sorta old, sort of bad, but I ate them up as a kid, like I said, I was a big fan. Got em on DVD if you want to see 'em?" "DVD?" It means nothing to Bucky, but the man relaxes a little more, now that the antagonism has gone out of Clint's voice and mood. "Maybe when I've had a little more time to adjust." He picks up the glass of vodka, sips at it again. "I'd like to get my hands on them, too," he admits. "I'm just glad to be me, again. Though I don't think I'm destined to sit still in an apartment and drink vodka all day either. Stark wants me to go see this Doc Samson guy." "It's how we men from the world of tomorrow watch movies at home," he says then waves a hand at Nat's entertainment and center and collection of said DVDs and Blu-Rays. Then moving on he looks between his empty glass and the bottle checking if it's cool with James that he takes a second round. "Anyhow, been through something similar, like a year ago, someone walking around wearing my face while some guys worked me over in orbit, so, you definitely want to keep active. Not sure about Stark's favourite head shrinker though, Samson, I heard he's good, but I dunno, talking about thoughts and feelings, not my thing. Rather be punching bad guys." Bucky nods to that, "Yeah. I'm not sure I'm all for it. You only saw a psychiatrist in my day if you were in the looney bin." Yes. He just said 'looney bin'. He shrugs, just a little bit. And, doesn't seem to have an issue with Clint taking more of the vodka. "Going back to finish some business in Russia, soon, with Stark. Maybe settle a score, or two. We'll see. It's at least something to look forward to." "Everyone sees them now, which is dumb if you ask me," Clint says about shrinks as he pours himself some vodka and offers to do the same for James. "If I have any problems I just go see Doctor Goose, or Doctor Daniels, or in a pinch Doctor Miller," he says nodding to the booze bottle. He settles back when the pouring is done. "Right, tracking down Red Guardian, Nat wanted me to come along for that, but got too much going on here to bust free. Though while you're waiting for that to jump off, if you want to train, or hang out, let me know, I'll make some time." "I might be up for getting out of here. Streching my legs. Taking a bit of R&R. If you've got any suggestions. Might be good, to clear my head." James gives a wry grin to the man he'd almost punched in the face in irritation just a few moments ago. "Somewhere that a guy like me can have some fun, without all the ...," he makes a vauge hand gesture, "Dirt," he winds up saying. "I can only guess Steve's reaction, when he came out, and saw women dressing like they do, now." Clint frowns. "Dirt?" he asks then he gets it and grins. "Nah, this is nothing its still winter, wait until summer, or the fall, that's yoga pants season," he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He know Bucky probably doesn't know what yoga pants are but sometimes it's best to let people's imagination get the best of them. He slams back his vodka. "Well I've got a bit of spare time before I need to head to the Academy and Coney Island's still a thing, and it's the closest thing I can think of to good clean fun. You game?" "Haven't been there in --," a pause. Then, he nods, "Sure." And he stands up, capping the vodka. "The Academy?" Curious. And cautious. "What's that? Somewhere that you train to try and clock people in the jaw for shoving a gun in your face?" Wry humor. But, at least he's trying, even if it's slightly bitter. "-Awhile, I bet," Clint answers for James as he stands and takes his cup to the kitchen. "Changed a lot since your day, I used to work at the circus there when there was one, sort of a history buff when it comes to the place," he explains before he snorts a laugh and leans on counter on the kitchen. "Something like that, it's where we train the next generation of Avengers. They're good kids, lots of potential, not much smarts though, since they chose to be Avengers," he grins. "Read a bit about them in the paper. You guys are popular. Especially Stark, and Spider-Woman," Bucky admits. He nods, "C'mon, then. Let's get out of here. I've stared at enough walls this week."